Unspoken Whispers
by Isolde1
Summary: Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart. Because the unspoken words are often the most important. [Complete, yaoi, light IruOC, KakaIru]
1. Part 1: The lost children

**Unspoken Whispers**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)**  
Author E-mail: **carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com**  
Category:** Angst/General  
**Keywords:** Naruto Iruka past memories childhood  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers**: Possible up to episode 80  
**Summary:** "Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart." Because the unspoken words are often the most important. (Iruka centric, light IruOC, KakaIru)  
Disclaimer: This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. Nobuko, Zak, Jeren-sensei and the plot are mine. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comment is welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

For clarity's sake: This fic reflects _my _vision of Iruka's teenage-hood. It is in no way, shape or form related to canon - but, hey, I could be right. We know almost nothing about Iruka's past, aside from his parents' death. The story is a one-shot in three parts: it is mostly a series of flashbacks. Don't worry, you'll understand as you read.

This is absolutely not related to my TSB universe. And very far from my usual writing style. It just begged me to be written ... I hope you'll like it anyway. And if you don't, well, I'll cry it out.

From what I could gather, Iruka became a Genin at eleven, lost his parents at twelve, became a Chuunin at sixteen. Right?

* * *

**Part 1/3: The lost children**

"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."

John Lancaster Spalding, _Aphorisms and Reflections_

_- Present Time_ -

In the middle of a field, under the heavy cloud-leaden sky, was a memorial stone.

In front of the monument stood a young man.

He was not crying. Ninjas did not cry.

The rain did it for him.

No, he was not crying.

He knelt in the muddy grass, laid a hand on the dark cold stone.

Iruka remembered.

§§§

- _Thirteen years prior -_

Spring.

Eleven-year-old Iruka runs down the deserted Academy hallways. _Late, late, late, why am I _always_ late?_

Iruka is a Genin, his headband proves it. He received it yesterday. His parents were so proud.

Today, he will be assigned to a team. And a Jounin teacher.

And, of course, he's late.

Iruka speeds up as he glimpses the classroom's glassdoor. He barges inside.

"Here I aaaam!"

Breathless, he looks around. The classroom is empty, save for two children.

A bored-looking redhead, cross-legged on a desk, filing her painted nails with careful inattention.

A small, honey-haired boy at the window, his back to Iruka.

Neither of them seemingly paying any attention to his entrance.

_Talk about a welcome party_.

Unruffled, he plucks up his courage.

"Hello there! My name is Iruka, what's yours?"

No reaction.

"I said, 'Hello there, my ...'"

The tall redhead looks up. Freckles, milky skin, mismatched eyes - one brown, scornful, the other green, mischievous.

"Yes, yes, you're Iruka. That's _great_," she drawls. "The name is Sabunara Nobuko, but you can me call me Ko. "

Iruka nods, slightly subdued. He turns back to the other boy, who still hasn't moved or uttered a word.

"Hey, you, at the window. What's your name?"

Silence meets him. Anger flares.

"Are you deaf? I ..."

"Actually, yes, he is."

Iruka has probably misheard. No way a deaf boy could become a ninja, no way.

"What?" he asks, quizzical.

Nobuko shrugs inelegantly.

"He's deaf. And dumb. Not in _that_ sense, you idiot," she adds as she notices Iruka's expression. "Deaf-mute."

"Oh," comes the intelligent reply.

He smiles sheepishly.

Nobuko snorts. She uncrosses hers legs slowly, slides off the desk. Stamps once, loudly. The lustred parquet vibrates lightly.

The boy starts, whirls around. He looks young, Iruka thinks. The sun plays in his honey-colored locks. He tilts his head to the side, curious.

"Zak, that's his name. Mitsuhiko Zaknafein."

The boy stares at her intently as she speaks. He reads on her lips, Iruka realizes, a little awed.

He nods at Iruka, walks to one remote desk, draws out a small slate and some chalk. Writes something on it.

Turns back to Iruka. A wan smile.

'Welcome to Team Twelve', the slate reads.

§§§

Summer.

Iruka has learnt many a thing over the last few months.

How to speak slowly, and articulate, so Zak can follow.

How to irk Nobuko in the morning. How to irk Nobuko in the afternoon. How to irk Nobuko anytime.

How to avoid his sensei's fist.

He's very good at the first two, a little less at the third. Some bruises, a split lip, that's nothing. A ninja shouldn't pay attention to it.

Jeren-sensei is not a very patient man. Their teacher, they have found out quickly, loves women, alcohol, but certainly not children.

And especially not them.

The deaf-dumb, the whore in training, the insolent brat, he has dubbed them.

They are not worthy, not worthy of Sandaime's only son, he reminds them everyday. They should be happy he doesn't just give up on their sorry arses and be done with it.

They are.

He is not a bad teacher. When he is sober. Or when he actually wants to teach them something.

Both occurrences are rare.

A waste of time and breath, that's what they are. He should be training to become the next Hokage, not teaching good-for-nothing, untalented, snotty kids.

And so Team Twelve is on its own most of the time.

Missions are uneventful. Jeren-sensei snores under a tree. They complete the mission. They awaken their teacher. Back home, Iruka to his parents, Nobuko to her guardian, Zak to his father.

When no mission is scheduled, they are mostly free.

Mostly, because Iruka won't leave them in peace. He brings books, charts, weapons. Tries to learn, to explain.

Tries being the keyword. It's difficult to teach something when you don't even understand it yourself.

A ninja doesn't yield, doesn't cry, doesn't betray his village. Those are the key rules, he reminds himself everyday.

Iruka wants to become a good ninja. With or without a sensei, talented or not talented, he will learn.

He doesn't give up.

He's stubborn.

Especially where Zak is concerned.

A month into their Genin training, Iruka understands. Team Twelve will not last if they don't find a way for Zak to communicate with them. That slate of his is more of a hindrance than a help, in his opinion.

Two months into their Genin training, Iruka loses patience.

"We have to find something. Anything. Or else I'll become, say, completely mad."

'I second that', Zak writes, bland and calm as usual.

"What, you mean, more than usual?" asks Nobuko dryly.

'I resent that', Zak replies.

Iruka merely shrugs.

And now, after three months, and many a clandestine search of the Konoha library, Iruka triumphantly holds a book to a chest, like a prized treasure. He has found what he was looking for.

Beyond Silence: Sign Language and Scout Signs by Samikene Ashitaka.

§§§

Winter. 

Sign language is difficult, Team Twelve has discovered. It employs signs made with the hands and other movements, including facial expressions and postures of the body.

Trains them to be observant, Nobuko remarks with surprising common sense.

The signs themselves are easy to memorize. Sign language is based on the idea that sight is the most useful tool a deaf person has to communicate and receive information. Gestures, hand shapes, positions and facial expressions replace words.

Fingerspelling - the "alphabet" - holds no real difficulty for them either. It is very close from the jutsu handshapes they use daily.

More problematic, however, are grammar, syntax and sentence order.

Zak himself has assimilated sign language with astonishing speed. He has relied on body language and lip-reading to understand the people around him since he was three. He has now simply turned this instinctive knowledge into coherent language.

The two other Genins, for once, are quite disadvantaged.

Nobuko especially is very awkward. Iruka is not really better, but he's not ashamed, and his motions thus flow more fluidly.

He often turns the lessons into ludicrous pantomimes when he feels his friends have had enough. Nobuko sometimes even join him.

Zak often wishes he could laugh at their silly antics.

He doesn't need too.

The mirth dancing in his amber eyes is enough for his two companions.

§§§

Spring. 

Iruka turns twelve, Nobuko thirteen.

They are immature as ever. Jeren-sensei is rancorous as ever. Zak is silent as ever.

But Team Twelve has many a reason to be happy.

Zak can communicate with them. They can understand him.

Jeren-sensei cannot.

They insult him discreetly all day long.

It is childish. It is vain. But it feels good.

Iruka is especially vindictive. He's grown up in a loving family, he resents being beaten. The two others are either used to it, or pretending to be. With the war against Kyuubi raging around Konoha, many people have tried to drown their sorrows into alcohol. Zak's father included. All the bruises the small boy sports are not always courtesy of his sensei.

But Jeren-sensei doesn't not have any excuse.

He just likes it.

Team Twelve hardens.

Life goes on.

§§§

Summer.

Humidity and heat numb the whole village. Make it difficult to think, even more so to train.

Even Jeren-sensei is calmer than usual.

It's too hot to be drinking alcohol. When he does anyway, it knocks him out for the remnant of the day.

Nobuko and Zak rejoices, unless Iruka announces that they are going to go over Chakra theory, or one of those boring subjects he seems so fond of.

'I tell you, Zak, he's going to turn out badly when he grows up. Like, become a _teacher_,' Nobuko motions to Zak, when Iruka is out of sight, or too engrossed in his reading to actually pay attention.

Zak nods vigorously.

But they comply anyway, with much sighing and glaring.

Because this is Iruka, and annoying him is notoriously bad for the health.

Because they are grateful.

Because no one else cares.

Under the shade of a tree, in the oppressive heat, Team Twelve learns.

§§§

Fall. 

Kyuubi has destroyed most of the village.

It has killed Iruka's parents, too.

Iruka stops speaking altogether, and immerses himself completely in sign language.

Nobody but Zak and Nobuko can understand him. It doesn't matter, because he wants to shun the others, all the others, out.

Iruka gives Zak his own blue forehead protector for his eleventh birthday, on November the 7th, because he has forgotten to buy him a real present. Zak beams, and hands him his black one without resentment. Iruka smiles back.

Only Zak can draw him out of his melancholy.

Nobuko stops trying after a while.

Everybody else does as well.

Even Jeren-sensei leaves him alone. He enjoys his victims squirming and furious and scared.

Hitting an apathetic excuse for a Genin really is no fun.

§§§

Winter. 

Snow comes back, and so does Iruka's voice.

One day, on a mission, he cries out to warn Nobuko of a danger. He feels betrayed and relieved and sad.

They say time heals all wounds.

They are wrong. It heals nothing, Iruka discovers. It simply obliterates the past.

The pain remains.

Life goes on.

§§§

Spring. 

April the 2nd sees Nobuko's fourteenth birthday; May 26th, Iruka's thirteenth.

The young girl is considered of age. She moves out of her guardian's flat without regret.

Iruka is confused. He would give anything not to be all by himself in his big, silent house. _Home_, he has found, isn't about _where_ you live, but _with whom_.

He doesn't understand why Nobuko would want to live alone, and says so many times, but she just looks away wordlessly. One day, though, Zak corners him after a particularly intensive training session.

Zak makes a quick gesture - his middle finger pulling back from the palm of his other hand.

'Take advantage of.'

Iruka doesn't get it at first. At his quizzical glance, Zak, exasperated, crudely motions something that stuns him.

His index pushes through the fingers of the other hand.

'Penetrate.'

Iruka stares in silent horror as realization eventually dawns upon him.

The dark-haired boy treats them both to Ichiraku that night.

None of them brings up the matter. They speak merrily of everything and nothing. As usual.

Stupid to pretend, except when it's all that is left to you.

§§§

Summer. 

Heat, once again. More free time too.

Theory is essential, Iruka tells them one day, but advanced Taijutsu and Ninjutsu are not taught in books.

Time to gather some knowledge, he decides.

And where else to find it, pray tell, than with a good teacher?

That the Jounin teacher in question doesn't really know he's teaching them is of little importance to his eyes.

Iruka loves hunting, always had. He remembers, before Kyuubi, the long days spent with his father in the forest.

Oh, he remembers.

His first prey is a weird-looking, green-clad fifteen-year-old Jounin who enlightens his own pupils with precious, yet often underestimated hand-to-hand techniques.

It is difficult to stalk any animal. Even more so a skilled ninja.

Through trial and errors, he learns to track, applying his hard-won hunting lore to the task with his usual mulish dedication. He learns to move noiselessly, to screen his chakra as he was taught in the Academy, to melt in a shadow within seconds if the Jounin happens to glance his way.

Iruka lives in perpetual terror to be discovered. More often than not, he almost is.

But it is good training.

His senses becomes keener, his memory prompt and assured. When he feels confident enough, he begins to follow another teacher. Red-eyed, black-haired, she is a Genjutsu specialist and thus very sensitive to chakra. Iruka is almost certain she knows he's there, but she never says a word.

Iruka is grateful for that.

Whatever scraps of knowledge he manages to glean, Iruka teaches his friends. Sometimes, especially at first, the jutsu he shows them doesn't work, because Iruka memorized it wrong, or forgot a part of it.

Nobuko scoffs at him, and goes back to painting her nails idly.

'Riiiiiight,' signs Zak, the R handshape moving with exaggerated slowness to the right side of his body.

Iruka is determined. He persists. Because when Zak masters a new move, his amber eyes light up in delighted pleasure and desperate hope to achieve his most prized dream - become a ninja, deaf or not.

No one has told Iruka it was impossible for a Genin to train his comrades for the Chuunin examination, because it has never been done before. And, since he doesn't know it is impossible, and also because he has no choice, Iruka teaches himself to do it.

* * *

Next part will be posted in a few days. Stay tuned, and please review! 


	2. Part 2: For a friend

**Unspoken Whispers**

**Author: **Carcinya (Isolde on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category**: Angst/General  
**Keywords:** Naruto Iruka past memories childhood  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 80  
**Summary:** "Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart." Because the unspoken words often harm the most. (Yaoi, light IruOC, KakaIru)   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. Nobuko, Zak, Jeren-sensei and the plot are mine. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

Here goes the second part.

Enjoy anyway!

This part is dedicated to my darling Kiasca.

* * *

**Part 2/3: For a friend**

§§§

_- One year later_ -

Fall.

Nobuko and Iruka bake a chocolate cake for Zak's thirteenth birthday.

It is burned and a little weird-tasting, because Iruka mistook salt for sugar, and Nobuko ate most of the chocolate anyway.

It is the best cake of Zak's entire life.

After dinner they climb up the former Hokages' carvings, and sit there, alone and together in the chilly night. Watching the stars.

Nobuko's head lolls slightly to the side, and rests eventually on Iruka's left shoulder. She drools a little.

Zak takes his right hand, intertwines their fingers. Traces scout signs in Iruka's palm with his thumb.

'Forever?'

Iruka trembles a little. Memories. _Promise, dad, promise you'll be there forever. Yes, Iruka. Forever._

He answers in the same fashion.

'Forever.'

Zak smiles, even though Iruka can't see it. He leans against his companion and squeezes his hand. Soon his even breathing joins Nobuko's light snores.

In silence, Iruka contemplates the sky.

Forever is just a word.

§§§

Winter.

Iruka and Nobuko love snow fights. Zak smiles, clearly amused. He often is, these days.

But he's not a very playful kind of boy. He prefers watching them from afar.

Nobuko and Iruka are almost polar opposites, he muses.

She's brash, loud, vulgar. Red, flaming, provocative. Quick to anger, long to forgive. Warming.

He's shy, honest, loyal to a fault. Blue, thinking, contemplative. Mischievous, but a little too clueless, perhaps. Sparkling.

Both are desperate for attention.

Nobuko is all flashy colors, low-cut, skintight dresses, and naughty pouts. What she can't protect, she discloses to open view.

Iruka is the biggest prankster in the history of Konoha; Jeren-sensei being his not-so-innocent favorite victim. His behavior often earns him nasty bruises from said teacher, but that doesn't not really subdue him.

Zak sometimes wonders if anything could tame his unruly friends.

A snowball lands square on his face.

Talk about a stupid question.

§§§

Spring.

Another year, another notch on Iruka and Nobuko's belts.

Things around here haven't changed much.

At fifteen, Iruka looks pretty much like the first time they met, Zak thinks. Taller, perhaps, but still lean and smiling and all hyperactive grace.

Only his eyes are much darker.

Iruka is too intense, too emotional. He takes everything and everyone to heart. The good and the bad. The sour and the sweet.

The joy and the the pain.

One day, it will be too much. Zak only hopes he will be there for him when he breaks.

Zak hopes he will be there every single day of Iruka's life.

§§§

Summer.

"Look, there goes Dumb-Ass and his little baby-sitters."

"My father said cripples shouldn't be allowed in the Academy," drawls another voice. "But then, if it was me, there wouldn't that many Genins to begin with."

"Che," snorts a young, black-haired woman. "Don't bother. No point insulting that freak anyway. I bet a donkey would be smarter than him."

Zak does not answer. It does not touch him, he just feels a little out of place. After so many years, such things have ceased to upset him.

He walks on, unconcerned. Stops when he notices Nobuko and Iruka's murderous expressions.

"What's your problem, Anko-bitch? Missing your lovely snake teacher, perhaps?"

"What's your problem, Nobuko-bitch?" mocks the other girl in a singsong voice. "Tired of spreading your legs around, already?"

Nobuko's eyes widen. She draws a shuriken. "Why, you ..."

A firm grip on her arm. She turns around.

Zak shakes his head. The edge of his hand comes down on his palm, and moves quickly away with the fingers spreading.

'Stop. Waste of time.'

The N handshape circles and lands on the back of his wrist.

'Typical.'

Iruka answers in the same fashion, his fingers moving quickly in opposite directions.

'But!'

Anko and her comrades watch, gaping a little.

"He ..."

"He understands everything you say," spits Nobuko bitterly. "Every _fucking_ thing."

'Nobuko, Iruka. Let's go,' Zak motions, almost pleading, 'please.'

Usually he shortens their name into "Ko" and "Ru", making it easier to fingerspell. That he doesn't do so is a measure of how insistent he is.

The two Genins draw back with a visible effort of will. Glare at the other Team.

Her hands on her hips, Anko smirks.

"Yes," she scoffs, "run away, little ones. Unless you want to fight?"

Team One, trained by the infamous Orochimaru-sensei himself.

Iruka and his friends are clearly outmatched.

They know it.

Team One knows it.

Iruka swallows audibly. On his left side, Nobuko tenses, eyes narrowing in anticipation. Zak merely looks resigned.

The six Genins draw their weapons.

"What's going on here?" thunders a throaty voice.

For what is probably the first, and last, time in their life, Team Twelve is very happy to see their teacher.

Jeren-sensei is big and heavy and the Konoha sigil gleams in the bright sunlight.

"Always looking for trouble, are you, Mitarashi?"

He snorts.

"Get out my sight, you sorry lot."

Anko glowers. Doesn't move an inch. Testing the waters.

"Girl," he growls, "don't try me."

Reluctantly, she sheathes back her kunai. Vanishes in a puff of smoke. Her companions follow suite.

The remaining Genins beam winningly.

Maybe their teacher isn't so bad, after all.

"And you, Team Twits," asks Jeren-sensei gruffly, "don't you have anything better to do?"

He throws them a dirty look and turns away. Not before he cuffs Iruka once, for good measure.

Then again, maybe not.

§§§

Fall.

On a rooftop, Iruka and Nobuko 'sing' the infamous birthday song.

'Happyyyy birthhhdayyy!'

Hands up the chest. Then one sliding under the other. Arm horizontal, a palm coming to rest onto the opposite elbow.

'Off key,' comments Zak blankly. There's a world of soft, strangled words he would like to whisper.

Instead, he just stares at his feet, throat painfully tight because he can't set his mind on whether to laugh or cry.

Zak looks up, surprised to feel Iruka's hands on his. And Nobuko's on his eyes.

'Don't you want your surprise?' writes Iruka in his palm.

The smaller boys nods. Shakily.

He never knows what to expect with those two.

Nobuko still blindfolding him, Iruka leads him through the steepest part of Konoha. At least, that's what he assumes, what with all those steps and slopes they make him climb.

His companions don't really realize the level of trust it implies for Zak to let them deprive him of his sight.

He feels very vulnerable. Tightens his grip on Iruka's hands. Gets a reassuring squeeze in return.

Suddenly, Nobuko removes her hands.

In front of him, Iruka strikes a theatrical pause.

"Tada!"

He always had a flair for dramatics, Zak muses.

"Well," says Nobuko, almost gently, "what are you waiting for? Open it."

Zak, puzzled, looks around for a present. Finds none.

"The door, you idiot."

Iruka, smiling like a maniac, points behind him.

Zak whirls around so fast he very nearly gets whiplash.

There it is, plain, almost shabby, a wooden door.

Very, very slowly, he turns the brass handle.

The flat behind it is tiny, dusty and a complete mess.

It is perfect.

Shell-shocked, Zak turns back to his friends. Finds a dangling set of keys in front of his face.

"Took us forever to gather the money, but we wanted you to have it on your fourteenth birthday. What with you being of age, and stuff ..."

Nobuko is particularly hopeless at expressing her feelings. Even worse than Iruka.

But she seems moved, openly moved. That's very rare with her.

"It's not that great, but it's better than staying at your father's, I guess, so ..."

Iruka stops when he notices Zak's amber eyes are brimming with tears.

Ninjas don't cry.

"Welcome home, Zak," he breathes softly.

The boy trembles lightly.

But kids do, sometimes.

§§§

Winter.

Iruka decides they will take part to the next Chuunin examination, in summer. They can be ready if they train hard.

Nobuko glowers, but her eyes are shining all the same.

They are not prized students like Team One, or Team Four. They don't believe in themselves - it is hard to be self-confident misfits.

Team Twelve is aware of its disastrous reputation. "Team Twits" is but one of Jeren-sensei 'affectionate' nicknames for them.

They are no geniuses.

But they have talent. Especially as a team.

Nobuko is still taller and stronger than both boys. "Not that hard," she reminds them playfully every so often. Hotheaded, bursting with energy, Taijutsu is the only field she feels wholly at ease with. She's not really an intellectual.

Zak, on the other hand, delights in the more arduous subtleties of Genjutsu and Ninjutsu. He's a born-planner, ingenious if sometimes too careful.

Iruka is probably the more balanced element of their closely-knit group. His warm, unconsciously charismatic persona brings an element of stability to Nobuko's fierce temper, an element of security to Zak's overprotective character.

He's quick to think on his feet, and has an all in all terrifying tendency to get into trouble. His greatest strength, however, lies in his shocking visual memory. Of fairly average skill in most fields, Iruka has developed his Ninjutsu capacities along with his mastery of the sign language. He aces in both.

Nobuko 'speaks' fluently enough, but the minute shifts of the body, the most refined subtleties still elude her.

With Iruka, Zak can express himself fully. There is no place for lies between them: what spoken language allow of dissimulation isn't even possible with such a form of communication.

They have learnt to read each other's eyes, dark chocolate against golden amber, the little imp and the deaf-mute.

One day, sitting back to back in a tree, hand in hand, Zak draws something in his palm.

'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'Being there.'

Iruka stills.

'I will always be there,' he answers at last.

Hoping, with all his heart, that he will indeed.

§§§

Spring.

Jeren-sensei becomes a father. He names his child after the village.

Konohamaru.

He even allows Team Twelve to see him.

Iruka and Nobuko don't really understand what their teacher is so proud of. It's just a baby, red-skinned and wrinkled and a little smelly.

Very loud, at that.

The Hokage, too, looks ridiculously pleased with the wailing little thing.

Zak shares his companions' indifference, but knows better than to say so.

Iruka is not that wise.

Jeren-sensei would not dare hit him in front of his own father. Iruka is perfectly aware of that.

He's not suicidal, after all.

§§§

Summer.

Jeren-sensei refuses to nominate them for the Chuunin exam. They would only manage to embarrass him, he grunts.

Iruka pleads. Rages. Begs.

They have worked hard. They have improved. And no thanks to him, he adds viciously.

Not to avail.

Iruka refuses to admit defeat. Decides, grimly, to resort to extreme measures.

He begins following Jeren-sensei around. Everywhere. All the time.

Singing his head off like a demented bird.

Silly songs.

Off-key.

After a week of "the Singing Treatment of Doom", as Team Twelve calls it, the Jounin gives in.

The whole village, minus Zak for obvious reasons, breathe a deep sigh of relief.

Not for long.

Jeren-sensei nominates Nobuko and Iruka. Leaving Zak out pointedly.

A personal vengeance against Iruka, self-appointed protector of the deaf-mute boy.

The Chuunin exam is too dangerous for a cripple, the teacher states winningly. Skilled or not.

Seething at his own naiveté, Iruka delves once more into the Konoha library.

Comes out with a triumphant smile. And bleak eyes.

Nothing forbids a disabled ninja to become Chuunin, Jounin, or even Hokage.

Because none has ever lived to see adulthood.

Iruka tries not to shudder at the perspective.

Fails miserably.

Team Twelve, law book in hand, brings the matter to the Sandaime.

Jeren-sensei, seething, bows to his father's decision.

Zak is deliriously happy. His companions have a hard time following his enthusiastic motions.

The last weeks before the exam are spent in a feverish haze of last-minute revisions.

On the dreaded day, Nobuko is so anxious she nibbles off her artfully painted nails. Iruka walks back and forth like a caged panther, tugging on his ponytail to alleviate his stress. Zak sits quietly, eager and maybe a little worried.

The written test is dreadfully - and purposely, but they don't know that - difficult. Nobuko cheats shamelessly. Using her charms to distract her victim. Under the table, she fingerspells the answers to her companions.

Iruka doesn't approve of such methods, but what else is there?

They pass.

The second test is spent in the forest. They feel more at ease. Especially Iruka.

It is not unusual for them to complete missions without their sensei.

Quite the contrary.

Sign language, once again, proves to be a most useful asset. A discreet, efficient mean of communication.

They pass.

The last test is composed of duels.

Iruka fights Sayaka Megumi, a tall blonde girl with gentle eyes. He sees easily through her Genjutsu techniques. Feels very thankful to Zak all of a sudden to have trained him against such attacks.

Nobuko is opposed to Rei Myoshi. Tall, bulky, smug. Cracks his knuckles and smiles arrogantly until Nobuko's punch sends him flying. Nobuko wins quickly. Covered in bruises, and missing one of her molars.

Both Genins watches anxiously Zak readying himself. Gripping the railing.

Their friend is pitted against Kazuko Chiharu. Average height, average beauty, and probably average strength.

The duel lasts twenty terrible minutes.

They are an almost perfect match. None of them seemingly gaining advantage over the other.

Seemingly.

With his usual patience, Zak wears down his opponent. Feinting, dodging, feinting again.

He eventually knocks her down. A well-calculated kick.

He whirls around to face his companions. A brilliant, dazzling grin.

'Did you see? I did it! I knew I ...'

Zak never finishes his motion.

Behind him, the girl has got up.

"We are not done yet!" she screams furiously.

The kunai flies with an eerie whizzing sound.

But Zak cannot hear it.

The weapon embeds itself neatly in his neck.

His amber eyes widen. His smile fades, wiped by the sudden onslaught of pain.

Zak collapses on the cold stone slabs.

Angry red blood pools around his motionless body.

As silent in death as he was in life.

* * *

Author's notes: 

Thanks to all my reviewers. I was really touched by all your nice comments. This story is very personal, as you may have noticed, and I wasn't sure about posting it. Still aren't.

Please review?


	3. Part 3: One more chance

**Unspoken Whispers **

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde on )  
**Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Angst/General  
**Keywords:** Naruto Iruka past memories childhood  
**Rating:** PG-13, might go up  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 80  
**Summary:** "Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart." Because the unspoken words often harm the most. Yaoi, light IruOC, KakaIru  
Disclaimer: This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. Nobuko, Zak, Jeren-sensei and the plot are mine. "Don't walk away" is Michael Jackson's. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes**: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.

Kurenai-sensei was an Academy teacher before she became Jounin - we saw it in a flashback.

I was astonished by the number of reviews. I didn't expect more than five or so. Thank you all, I mean it.

This part is dedicated to Alex, even though he won't ever read this. I have forgiven you; I could never forget you.

* * *

**Part 3/3: One more chance**

§§§

Summer still.

Nobuko and Iruka receive their Chuunin vest without a smile.

Iruka glares at the thing with utmost hatred.

He walks around like a ghost. If his parents' death affected him, Zak's has broken him.

He has lost weight. He has lost sleep.

He has lost faith.

Nobuko, too, is very affected. Grief ravages her - but even she can't relate to the excruciating, frightening emptiness of Iruka's eyes.

The newly-promoted Chuunin radiates with a silent misery he doesn't bother to hide.

But he has yet to shed a tear.

And then comes the funeral.

Few people are attending the service. Nobuko, Jeren-sensei, Hokage-sama, and Konoha's elders, Naomi and her husband.

Zak's father is not there.

The Hokage begins Zak's elegy with calm reverence, his words laced with genuine sorrow.

Until he notices Iruka.

Shaking with barely controlled rage.

"This ..."

He walks to Sandaime, enraged and bleak and desperate.

"This isn't him," he croaks out, his voice raspy from misuse. "This isn't Zak."

"Iruka ..."

"What kind of elegy is that? He wouldn't even have heard you!"

Understanding dawns in Sandaime's eyes. He steps aside.

Iruka kneels in front of the grave, shivering in spite of the heat. His vision blurs.

Biting his lip till it draws blood, he fights back the tears savagely.

Iruka proceeds through the esoteric, symbolic movements with a grace and subtlety only Zak could have rivaled, his sorrow almost frightening in its intensity.

His last offering to the deaf boy with a sweet smile who meant the world to him.

§§§

Fall.

Iruka keeps everyone at arms' length. Nobuko especially.

The two drift apart slowly. It is not for want of love.

Between them stands the leaden shadow of Zak's absence.

And the weight of Iruka's heart.

For Iruka is consummated by guilt.

A guilt so strong, so deep - matching his grief - that it ravages his soul.

One day, Nobuko confronts him. Furious, as she always is when she hurts.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"_What's wrong_? You ask me _what's wrong_?" Iruka repeats, incredulous. "D'you even need to ask? Zak ..."

"No," she replies grimly, "this isn't about Zak. This is about _you_."

Iruka starts, looking for all the world like a child slapped for no reason it can understand.

"You ..."

"It wasn't your fault, Ru," she says tiredly, reverting to his childhood nickname.

A bitter, shaky laugh.

"Whose was it, then, pray tell? Who trained you both? Who decided? Who insisted on Zak entering the Chuunin exam? Me, me, me, me!" spits Iruka. Voice laced with a self-hatred so thick it almost chokes him.

"Do you even listen to yourself?" cries Nobuko angrily. "Death is part of life, Ru. Being a ninja means dealing and facing death. Don't you see? If there's someone to blame, that's Jeren-sensei!"

"But ..."

Nobuko cannot stop now.

"Do you know," she begins, angry tears streaming down her pale face, "do you know what Zak told me the day before he ... before the exam? He told me that he loved you, loved you more than anything. Because you _listened. _Because you were there, always. Don't you understand? You believed in him, you believed in us." A wan smile. "Even in me."

Her hand strays on Iruka's face, lifting up his chin to meet her mismatched gaze.

"Iruka," she murmurs, "my friend, my strange willful brother who always tries so hard... I always knew there was something between you two I had no part in. But even you can't follow him where he's gone now. He died as a ninja, just as he lived as a ninja. He wouldn't have wanted it another way. For Zak's sake, you have to accept it."

Iruka stands very still. He has not cried, never allowed himself to mourn Zak's death. But right now, the steel walls he placed around his heart are shattering.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Stinging. His throat burns.

He slumps against the wall, breathing hitched and heavy.

Nobuko is by his side in the next instant.

"Let go, Ru, let go," she whispers, gently coaxing. "Just let go."

Iruka does just that.

§§§

Winter.

Iruka, after months of hesitation, goes to Sandaime.

And reveals everything.

It is difficult to tell a father that his son is a monster.

But Iruka owes it to Zak. And Nobuko.

And maybe a little to himself, too.

Hokage-sama doesn't seem overly surprised. Merely tired and so, so very old.

Midwinter sees Jeren-sensei's trial.

He is charged with negligence, child abuse, and unintentional homicide.

The jury is unanimous.

Sandaime's eyes are bleak and pained and resolute as he utters his son's sentence.

Exile.

Iruka cannot bring himself to rejoice. He has won, but no triumph can be seen in his brown eyes.

He feels empty.

Zak is dead, and so is Iruka's heart.

§§§

Spring.

Iruka refuses savagely to celebrate his seventeenth birthday.

On May the 26th, he spends all day on the Hokages' carvings, watching the sky.

Wondering at the impudence of a world who goes on living when Zak does not.

§§§

Summer.

What is life without a sense of purpose?

A meaningless succession of days and nights, devoid of meaning and leaden with emptiness.

Day. Night. Fight. Rest. Kill. Live.

Iruka's life comes down to those basic notions.

He has forgotten how to live without Zak.

He signs up for every single mission he can lay his hands on. Whatever the rank - it does not matter.

But nothing seems to quench his brazing thirst for revenge.

Revenge against life, against the world, against himself.

Hurting makes him feel real. Hurting the others, or himself - it does not matter.

Iruka cannot cope with such abiding pain, but anger, he can deal with.

And so he fights, everything, everyone - it does not matter.

Nobody dares approach him anymore.

Like a wild, wounded beast, Iruka keeps his distance. His vicious tongue and scathing wit see to that.

Nobuko is not afraid of him, though, has never been. But she has her own grief to handle.

Things have never been the same between them since Zak's death anyway.

Sandaime does not know what to do with him anymore. After a while, he even assigns him to A-ranked missions.

Iruka comes back bloody, battered - but successful, always - and paradoxically sated.

He finds no solace in killing and fighting.

But what else is there?

Iruka has forgotten.

§§§

Fall.

There's courage in the small things, Iruka finds.

Iruka has met a brave boy.

Five, maybe six-year-old. Standing in a street, all dirt and bushy blonde hair and defiant gaze.

Smiling in spite of everything, in spite of everyone, in spite of the world.

Grinning like nothing could ever hurt him.

Just to prove he can.

Do what you want, his smile says. Go on. I'm better than that.

Iruka knows who the kid is.

The Kyuubi.

He feels sad all the same. No kid should have to smile like that.

Then the boy turns around and looks at Iruka and Iruka almost chokes, because the kid's eyes are blue like the sky has not been since Zak's death.

He squashes an irrational urge to strike the boy, to claw at those crystal clear orbs until there's nothing left but blood and emptiness - just like what Iruka's life has become.

"Wattcha want?" the Kyuubi snaps, narrowing his eyes in sudden suspicion.

Iruka does not trust his voice to answer.

What does he want?

He wants to die.

What does he want?

He wants Zak back.

What does he want?

He wants to live.

But he has forgotten how.

"What do _ you_ want?" he asks instead, because he will not cry in front of a five-year-old boy.

The kid seems to consider that for a split second before his whole face lights up.

"Ramen! I want ramen."

Iruka blinks.

"Ramen," he repeats stupidly. "You want ... ramen."

The boy nods.

"Ramen is life," he says sagely.

"Somehow I miss the analogy," mutters Iruka under his breath.

"The _what_?"

"I just ... don't really get it."

The Kyuubi shots him a sympathetic look.

Iruka heroically does not strangle him.

"Oh," the brat says. "You're just a grown-up after all -- it's not your fault."

Iruka pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Your point being?"

"Ramen is life," he says again. "Someone pays you a bowl, you eat it, you are happy."

Iruka nods vaguely.

"Then there's no ramen left, and you are sad."

Iruka rolls his eyes slightly, but does not interrupt.

"But," the kid adds with a shrug, "you know there'll be more ramen later. So it's okay. You can go on."

And then he smiles again, that slow, rich smile of his.

What an imp.

"What happens when you are not hungry?"

_I'm discussing noodle philosophy with the Kyuubi. That's it, I'm completely off my rocker._

"I'm always hungry," the monster informs him happily.

_If you could have refrained from eating my parents, though ... _ comes the vicious inward reply. But for once, he does not yield to the destructive anger.

"And if you broke your chopsticks?" he asks instead. "What then?"

"Then you'd just have to get another pair," shrugs the kid. "What's the big deal?"

"But it wouldn't be the same," blurts out Iruka with sudden despair.

"No," agrees the boy. "But they could be fine all the same."

Iruka swallows hard. If only he could breath ...

"Look," chides the brat. "You shouldn't get so upset over chopsticks. That's not healthy."

"What are you implying exactly?" asks Iruka, dark eyes narrowing.

"Well, ramen I could understand. But chopsticks? Honestly."

"You are insane," the Chuunin informs him, morbidly impressed.

"Are you going to buy me ramen now?"

"Scratch that. You're completely wacky. Why would I want to treat _you_ to ramen, of all the people?"

Old habits die hard. Iruka regrets the hurtful words the moment they leave his mouth.

The kid looks faintly hurt and moves to turn away.

"Wait," Iruka calls after him, making up his mind in a split second. "Ever been to Ichiraku?"

"Na," the boy answers simply, "Way too expensive."

"Fancy a bowl?"

Iruka looks anywhere but at the kid.

A loud scream echoes in Konoha as the kid launches himself at the Chuunin.

"Say, say, could I get miso topping? Oooh, do you think they have green pepper?"

"Calm down, calm down! It's just ramen, for Hokage's sake!"

"But ramen is life," the brat reminds him with a knowing smile.

"Maybe," Iruka murmurs. "Maybe."

"My name is Naruto," says the kid suddenly as they walk down Konoha's streets to Ichiraku. "What's yours?"

"Iruka," the young man answers quietly, refusing to meet his eye. "Umino Iruka."

"Ah," says his companion as if it explained everything. "I heard the old geezer talking about you the other day."

"What did _ Hokage-sama_ say, pray tell?" questions Iruka curiously. He can't help stressing the honorific.

It feels almost like the good old time, when he was trying to teach Nobuko some manners.

"I forgot."

"Liar."

"I want beef ramen and chicken ramen too."

"That's ... that's blackmail!" splutters Iruka.

The brat stares at him blankly.

"Nevermind," Iruka sighs. "All right, two bowls, but not one more, you hear me!"

Naruto's blue eyes widen to unbelievable proportions, before he lets out a tremendous, winning shout.

"Yaiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

He beams up at the Chuunin with almost palpable happiness.

And, to his own surprise, Iruka finds himself smiling back.

§§§

Winter.

To his express demand, Iruka has been assigned to the Academy as Kurenai-sensei's assistant.

Slowly, under her watchful eye, Iruka regains a measure of peace. He becomes less wild, less agitated.

His anger abates at last as time heals his wounds.

Iruka has found a purpose.

Kurenai-sensei says he has a way with children.

Sandaime says he has a way with people.

Iruka does not really know if that's true. He tries to do his best, he is himself, and that seems to be enough.

He's always loved teaching - sometimes, he even allows himself to think that he's good at it.

Besides, he knows how a prankster's mind works - Naruto hardly ever gets away unpunished anymore.

Curiously, the brat seems to like and respect him all the more for it.

The feeling is mutual.

Iruka remembers a time when he swore he would never love again.

And then, he remembers Naruto's eyes.

Iruka does not need another pair of chopsticks, he decides.

He's got Naruto.

He's alive.

For now, that's enough.

§§§

Spring.

Iruka and Nobuko, a little awkwardly, decide to celebrate their birthdays together.

They eat a carrot cake, because none of them can bear the sight of a chocolate cake anymore.

From time to time, Nobuko glances at him nervously.

"It's not like you to be that silent," Iruka offers offhandedly after a while. "Just spill the beans already."

She draws a deep breath. Obviously bracing herself.

"I'm leaving," she says quietly.

Iruka blinks.

"You... what?"

"I'm leaving," she repeats slowly. "I've been assigned to Embers Outpost, near the western border."

"Did you have any say in that?" the young man asks, bristling.

Nobuko hesitates.

"Yes," she says finally.

"And you're leaving."

"Yes."

"Oh."

Iruka seems to digest that.

Raises an eyebrow.

She smiles softly, suddenly a little sheepish.

"So maybe Mitsuaki's going too," she admits with a light chuckle.

"He's a little dumb," Iruka points out wryly.

"True," Nobuko replies smoothly. "But Gods, what a fine ass."

"You're quite the connoisseur," he nudges good-naturedly.

She winks impishly.

"Look who is talking."

Iruka blushes a little, laughs in genuine mirth, feeling better all of a sudden.

Because even dressed in formal ninja clothes, her hair carefully kept out of her face, looking for all the world like a serious, responsible grown-up, Nobuko will always be Nobuko.

"I will miss you, Ko," he whispers suddenly, engulfing her in a hug.

"Took you long enough, you moron," she mutters against the skin of his neck.

§§§

Summer.

Like every year, Iruka goes to visit Zak.

He does not bring flowers, because flowers always die eventually, and he has seen enough death in his life as it is.

He just comes, and sits by the tombstone, and presses his cheek against the cool marble.

And watches the sky.

_Death is part of life, Ru. Being a ninja means dealing and facing death._

Iruka understands now.

The hardest part of life is not dying. It is going on day after day, even when you seemingly have nothing to go on for.

Naruto has taught him that much.

Iruka does not resent the world anymore.

He just wishes Zak was there to enjoy it too.

But he is not, reminds him the tombstone.

What do we life for, Hokage-sama? Everyone I love, they're all gone...

_People only ever die when they are forgotten, Iruka. We live to remember them._

Iruka goes on living.

Iruka remembers.

Forever is just a word.

But Zak and him have eternity.

§§§

_Present Time_ -

Iruka knelt very still. Lost in the painful caress of bittersweet memories. The pungent scent of the rain-drenched earth surrounded him.

In the mud, in the rain, Iruka flowed through the complex, sense-filled motions that told of things past, of sorrow and remorse, of love and regret.

He had done it so many times over the years.

Just not to forget.

He spoke wordlessly, and the marble tombstone listened in silence.

Behind him, a shadow watched. Stirred, and a little awed.

Iruka stilled at last.

"Do you miss them?" asked the shadow. "Your parents."

"Not really," replied the teacher.

"Then why are you here?"

A pained pause.

"To atone for my past mistakes," Iruka said quietly after a while, fingers stroking idly the carved kanas of Zak's name. "To remember."

A sharp intake of breath.

"Have you ever regretted, Kakashi-sensei," he began softly, "not telling a loved one how important he was, before it was too late?"

The Jounin did not answer. Single blue eye burning with a quiet, probing intensity.

Iruka held his gaze steadily.

Kakashi said nothing.

Iruka got up after a while, moved to turn away, confused by a diffuse feeling of regret he should not have been feeling.

"Iruka-sensei."

A questioning glance.

"Fancy some ramen? My treat."

"Your treat?" Iruka looks pleasingly puzzled. "Naruto's going to have a field day."

"No," said Kakashi, patiently. "Not with Naruto."

A pointed look.

Iruka's eyes widened.

"Oh," came the intelligent reply. "You mean..."

"Yes."

Iruka stared at Kakashi, cheeks a little pink.

"So? What do you say?"

Flippant. Casual. Anxious.

"Maybe it's time to get another pair of chopsticks," he whispered, smiling.

"What was that?"

"Ah, uh, nothing, Kakashi-sensei" Iruka replied, fidgeting under Kakashi's scrutiny.

"Kakashi."

A quizzical glance.

"Just Kakashi."

"Wha.. _Oh_. Right. Lead the way, then, Just Kakashi."

"I see where Naruto got his sense of humor," said the Jounin, clearly amused.

"You're one to talk!" muttered Iruka, vividly remembering their altercation before the Chuunin exam.

Kakashi must have remembered too, because he promptly changed the subject.

"So, Iruka ..." He intentionally dropped the honorific, and let the sentence hanging until Iruka nodded. "How about Ichiraku?"

They headed back to the village without haste.

Either talking - Kakashi about Team Seven, Iruka about his class, both gossiping and chuckling like kids - or walking in companionable silence.

When Kakashi took his hand discreetly and intertwined their fingers together, Iruka let him.

Because, somehow, he had a feeling that Zak would have understood.

* * *

The end! Wooo! 

Thanks to Kiasca, who drew incredible pictures of Team Twelve: http: kiasca. deviantart. com/ (minus the spaces)

Thanks to all the members of the KakaIru community on livejournal (Scarecrow x Dolphin Sex) and also to the members of the KakaIru mailing list on

Thanks to everyone who reviewed or read. I could never have gotten this far without you - I know it sounds corny, but the worse is, that's the truth!

But then, my whole life is quite corny these days, so I guess that's okay.


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